I Never Was
by clair beaubien
Summary: "You're not a child." "I never was." Dean and Mary meant to hurt each other with those word. But Sam found himself in the crossfire. Missing Scene to S12E14, The Raid.


"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

Mom was gone. Again. Maybe for good. Maybe that was better.

Maybe she should've stayed gone when she left them the first time after coming back.

Maybe she shouldn't have come back at all.

Instead of a Mom, they'd gotten shattered memories of what their life had been like when she was alive and the destroyed fantasies of what it would be again if only she was back.

Stupid, beautiful, fantasies.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

Sam couldn't blame her, not really, when she was distant at first. She'd been ripped out of Heaven and dumped into a life that had gone on without her, thirty years without her, where her husband was dead and her sons were older than she was. It was a lot, it was bound to be a lot for anyone, even an experienced hunter, to deal with. They couldn't really expect her to jump back in with open arms.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

But a little warmth would've been nice.

Now, she was working with the Brits, and it hurt. It hurt to know that she'd work with the people who'd tortured her sons, without even a second thought. Without knowing or caring or realizing how they would feel about it.

How they were bound to feel about it.

Betrayed and abandoned and hurt.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

So, now, Mom was gone, probably back to the Brits, Dean was gone to his room, and Sam was stuck fast standing in the library, waiting for the chill of loss and abandonment to settle into his bones so he could think again, so he could move.

So he could pull out that spike of inevitability and get on with dealing with it all.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

That was him, that was his fault. Dean hadn't meant it that way, hadn't meant it to hurt Sam, but it did. Dean had had to raise Sam. He was never a child because of Sam, because Mom had died because of Sam, because Dad had become an obsessed, tunnel-vision hunter because of Sam.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

Because of Sam.

He wanted to go to Dean, wanted to say, _screw her, we don't need her, _because he didn't need her. He wanted Mom, wanted her in their lives, but he didn't need her. He didn't need to need her.

Dean needed her, though, even now, and Sam couldn't – wouldn't – dismiss her to Dean.

_Hey, you know, why don't I go grab some pizza and we can watch some Netflix and forget everything else for tonight. _

And that might work if Dean was only pissed at Mom. But he was worse than pissed, he was hurt, and there wasn't anything Sam could do or say or suggest to make it better, even a little bit better. The best thing he could do was give Dean his space, at least for tonight.

Even though his own hurt made Sam reflexively, automatically, immediately want to look to Dean for comfort, for encouragement.

But he couldn't do that now.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

Maybe he should never do it again.

When the hurt and the chill had dissipated to a dull, familiar pain, Sam considered what to do. His bedroom loomed stifling and claustrophobic and he couldn't go there. He could look for a hunt, but no hunt would help Dean right now.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

Nothing else suggested itself, so he took the bag of burgers and six pack of beer to the kitchen to put in the refrigerator. Yeah, Mom had bought them to soften her 'big reveal', so maybe they wouldn't taste as good as they should, but food was still food and they still didn't waste it.

When that was done, he put away the dishes in strainer next to the sink. Plates and forks and coffee cups, reminders of the few family meals they'd eaten with Mom.

Too few.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

It wasn't unreasonable that this had all been too much for her, all of it all at once. But he and Dean had been ready and willing – more than ready and willing and able – to help her get through it.

No – ready and willing? Sure. Able? Maybe not.

Coming back from hell eighteen months into the future had been a lot for Sam to deal with, was still a lot for him to deal with when he couldn't stop himself from thinking about it. Dean had gotten him through it. Dean still got him through it whenever he needed it, but Dean had thirty years and more of experience taking care of Sam.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

All they had with Mom were memories and fantasies and no experience. She didn't know them, and they didn't know her, not really.

Sam picked up a coffee cup to put it away, but it slipped from his fingers and dropped back into the strainer.

She could have given them a chance, though. She hadn't even let them try before she decided she needed to be away from them.

The cup slipped again back into the strainer.

She could have at least not taken sides with the Brits, could have at least acknowledged that they hurt Sam, even if she couldn't comprehend that it was more than just burnt feet and broken ribs.

A whole lot more.

If nothing else, she could've cared.

But it was like she didn't even care.

The cup slipped a third time and Sam grabbed it and threw it to the floor. The smash was so satisfying he threw another cup, and then a plate. He was about to throw another plate but the rush of destruction passed as quickly as it had come. Destroying their dishes wouldn't hurt anybody but them. He swept up the pieces and threw them out and when he turned from putting the broom away, Dean was in the doorway.

"You throwing things?" he asked.

Sam wanted to lie. He wanted to say no. He wanted to make excuses.

He wanted Mom to care that he'd been shot and abducted and tortured. That Dean had lived his life under the burden of unrelenting responsibility.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

"I swept it up," he said.

And Dean tilted his head, not reacting to the answer, Sam knew, but checking that Sam wasn't barefoot where there'd been broken china.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

"Hey, Dean?" Sam asked, when Dean turned to leave. But when he turned back, Sam wasn't sure what he meant to say next. Mom was still Mom, no matter what was going on. He and Dean had hurt each other more and worse over the years and they'd always forgiven each other. Always found their way back. This wound from Mom was fresh, that was why it hurt so bad, but they'd find a way to patch the breach. He knew they would. "Mom – what she did, what she's _doing_ –"

"Screw her, y'know?" Dean said, pissed. "We don't need her. She can go – whatever – " He waved a dismissive hand. "We managed all this time without her, we'll manage just fine again. Better even. Right?"

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was."_

Sam nodded. It was the answer Dean needed. "Yeah. Yeah, we will."

"Damn right." He looked Sam up and down. "Y'okay?"

"Yeah," Sam said, but knew it wasn't strong. He tried again. "Yeah, just – just a lot – just – a long day."

Dean shrugged a shoulder toward the library. "C'mon, then. We'll grab a pizza, get some better beer, binge something. Just forget everything else tonight."

Sam smiled at that, even if it didn't last long. "Sounds good." He walked to the doorway and Dean stepped back to let him go first and as he passed Dean put his hand, heavy and warm, on Sam's shoulder.

"We'll be okay," he said.

"_You're not a child."_

"_I never was." _

The End.


End file.
